


Rubicon

by WindowRaindrops



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Alternate Universe - Different Powers, F/F, Historical, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:55:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24296194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WindowRaindrops/pseuds/WindowRaindrops
Summary: "Centurion Danvers, you are instructed by the Senate to return to Rome immediately as a private citizen. You are to serve under the direct authority of the new Governor of Cisalpine Gaul, Lex Luthor, acting as personal protection for the newly appointed Praetor, Lena Luthor."The last daughter of Krypton will one day bring Rome to its knees and reshape the course of the ancient world. A Supercorp retelling of the fall of the Roman Republic and the rise of the Roman Empire.
Relationships: Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor
Comments: 13
Kudos: 103





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that while I will aspire to mesh real historical events with elements of SG, a good deal of details will need to be "flubbed," in a sense. I have the utmost respect for Roman history and will do my absolute best to do it justice. With that said, please enjoy!
> 
> Thanks to @lightwoodlover for beta-ing.

It has been long assumed and believed that war is a glorious painting, covered with valor and honor, paid for in blood. Great generals, courageous soldiers, brilliant tacticians all etched in the annals of history never to be forgotten in their quest for eternal laurels. To grow closer to the gods if one dared. And dare they did.

There was no glory here. Only suffering. Only pain. Only the screams of the innocent.

Mothers protecting their own in feeble futility, their backs achieving nothing but providing a greater target to strike. Just another obstacle. Nothing that could possibly rival the edge of the merciless Roman sword that made easy work of their defenseless flesh. And what was another body for the glory of Rome?

Fathers who have long since been neutered after the last war, mounting a defense for reinforcements that would never arrive. Their arms stopped mid-strike. They never stood a chance.

This was not a battle. Despite what they may tell you in the years to come, this was not a battle.

This was an execution, an indiscriminate killing, a forced lead to slaughter.

We had no choice but to face the blade.

I can still hear them at night, my people, my blood, crying out to the old gods who would not listen. The centurions barked out their orders to plunder and pillage and the legions quickly obliged with ruthless efficiency. Our belongings, our culture spilled out onto the street, ripe for picking as the spoils of war.

The real prize, however, rested in the palace: gold and other precious metals that adorned the walls and of course, the members of the royal family who would inevitably be paraded around in chains through Roman streets like livestock. Jeered, mocked, and sacrificed. This was widely accepted throughout the Mare as a fate worse than death. And so, with our deepest and darkest fears coming true, the king and the queen decided that their last breaths would be spent inside the confines of where our ancestors stood, proud and tall. Their blood would soak the soil of Krypton and not the marble steps of Rome.

I, on the other hand, was shoved out of the throne room, against my feeble pleas to my sovereigns. Tears and snot smeared across my face. My queen grabbed hold of my face, wiping it clean, brushing the tears away. She was as determined as ever.

"Kara Zor-El, the last of our name. Your kingdom, your family hinges on your survival; you will carry out my last order to you as your queen. Stay hidden, stay fast, and stay clever. And no matter what you do, you will not turn back, not even a glance." She stopped, pausing to take my features in for the last time. She stroked my cheek with the back of her hand, memorizing every loose hair, freckle, and everything in between. Her expression softened.

"You will always be our daughter, Kara. A daughter of Krypton. We will never leave you as we will always reside here," she pointed to my chest. "In your heart. Always. No one can take us away from your heart."

She jumped when the great wooden doors crashed open, allowing a small group of bloodied soldiers to retreat into the throne room. One of them, a commander, rushed over, his breath ragged and pained.

"My queen, the Romans will be here any second; they've breached the initial palace walls."

The queen stole a look in my direction before issuing the soldiers to take me away to the royal harbor.

"You will protect the princess with your lives."

That was the last I heard of my mother.

Soon enough, I was tangled in a mess of arms as I thrashed and scratched and the soldiers had to carry the undignified princess out the back doors. My cries were almost loud enough to drown out the screams I feared but knew so well.

When we spilled out into the street, the city that laid out before me was nothing I could recognize. Ashes replaced the crisp ocean air I had relished. Now the air blinded and choked, suffocating whoever was left to breathe its toxic fumes. The iron tang of blood stained the city,  _ my city _ .

The soldiers staggered forwards, one arm protecting their eyes and the other holding their swords in half-reluctance. Their arms were shot. Some of them urged me to walk, pushing and prodding. My feet had a mind of their own, tracing a line with no certain destination.

It did not take long for a splintered centuria to find us. The royal guards took a step backwards, before realizing that death was creeping in their rear as well. A long, heavy second passed. Then the shriek of a pilum cutting across the air barely reached my ears before the projectile pierced clean through the neck of the man standing to my left. His blood splattered my cloak and cheek. I was too stunned to notice. And just like that, the Romans charged, nothing but red in their eyes. There was a shove from my right, and before I could register what had happened, I was tucked away in a tiny crevice of a side street. I took a couple exploratory steps backwards, and once I saw the first sword slice through the gaps in the Kryptonian armor, I turned. I ran.

I only focused on what's ahead, just as my queen asked. Always the dutiful princess, yet again tasked with continuing the legacy of the House of Zor-El, albeit in vastly different circumstances. Nevermind the lessons in diplomacy and foreign languages that the Queen insisted on; they weren’t going to save my life here. And it certainly did not save hers. 

There was sunlight where the path ended and I forced myself to continue, to dare not look back.The first step out into the main street, I was knocked clean off my feet, losing my breath expecting the full brunt of Roman armor on my juvenile frame. But it never came. My attacker had oriented himself sideways, knowing how to avoid an unfortunate collateral incident.

I squirmed and I pushed, but to no avail. He held my body firm in his arms. Then, in a hurried whisper:

"If you wish to live another day, princess, you will follow me immediately," he spoke in near perfect Kryptonian.

He rose, dusted himself off, and held out a hand. And against every fiber and instinct in my body, I took it.

I am the last daughter of Krypton. I left the cries of my countrymen behind and washed my sins with their blood.


	2. Chapter 2

"Again," I grunt out, gritting my teeth as I laboriously lift my gladius and shield to ready position once more.

The soldier groans in response, attempting to stand but failing to do so on stilted legs. He falls and the mud around his body splatters my armor. I huff in annoyance and trudge over.

"I will not ask again." I unceremoniously kick his leg, in hopes of spurring him on, but it only results in another painful groan.

"I think that's enough for today, Kara." A familiar voice speaks out amongst the crowd. Out steps Jeremiah, the oldest centurion in the legion, and he puts his calloused hand on my shoulder. I sheath my blade in response and unclasp my shield from my forearm. "Soldier," he points to a stockily built man from the crowd that has formed. "Take him to the infirmary." He obliges immediately and without a second thought.

Jeremiah gestures for me to take the lead back to my tent, and the gathering of legionaries part for us, heads bowed.

"If you continue like this, you will overwork poor Alex before we see traces of our enemy," he says in part jest, but the underlying concern stands. “We have not seen anything to corroborate the reports of unrest provided by our sole ally in Cisalpine Gaul. The boredom combined with the tension of constantly staying vigilant for a potential ambush is wearing morale thin. While swords training can be a source of entertainment, it does more harm than good on the psyche of the men and women in arms if their ranking officer continues to pummel them in the ground in the name of "combat readiness."

"Alex will handle it."

We stop before my tent.

"Her competence does not deem your actions necessary." I take a moment to consider his words. I know better than to continue a losing verbal fight with my _pater_.

I bow my head in respect.

"Of course. I will refrain in the future."

"Just take it easy on the new centuria."

"You're just saying that in hopes I don't choose you next," I jest, poking at his armor with my finger.

"I still got some fight left in me, Kara. Lest you forget where you learned to fight, my child." He smiles, extending his arm.

I gladly take it, perhaps squeezing a bit harder than I need to.

"The scribes always say the second draft is better than the first, pater."

He bellows out a hearty laugh.

"Get some rest. We shall leave at dawn tomorrow."

I bid Jeremiah goodbye and head into the refuge of my private quarters. Well, as private one can be in a temporary fortified encampment. I am careful that the flaps are closed tightly to prevent any passersby from peeking in. Before kneeling at the foot of my makeshift bed, I give one last glance behind. No one can know of this; the Romans cannot know that they live alongside me, fight alongside me, and breathe the same air as I, a Kryptonian. No, the _last_ Kryptonian. To them, I am a breed long extinct, a mere footnote in their history. An afterthought who would have followed the miserable path of her fellow countrymen if it wasn't for the actions of one compassionate centurion by the name of Jeremiah Danvers. For that, I am grateful for the relative anonymity. They see me and assume me to be a northern Italian with distant Gallic blood who has proven herself to be of great, noble service to the Republic. They do not know that I was chosen by the gods, by Rao, to lead, to govern, to rule, and to conquer. I was kissed by the Sun, and her fire still rages within.

I murmur the last lines of my nightly prayer to the old gods, adding a greeting of well wishes to my late parents, in Rao's light they return. When the final word hangs in the air, uncertain, I open my eyes and a give careful listen to my surroundings. It's just some recruits who have incurred the wrath of their centurion.

With a sigh, I shed my light armor and climb into bed. The night will be short, but the day unforgiving.

//

We break camp at dawn, silently as possible. We do not know who might be watching us in these wooded lands. Their eyes may well dot the very trees we walk amongst.

The sun is barely showing above the highest ceilings of the dense forest ahead. Who knows what the shadows have in store for us today. We may only be one legion, but on this narrow path, the procession of soldiers and supplies stretches as far as the eyes can see. Despite the good weather, the chatter is kept to a minimum; there is always an air of uneasiness when entering a strategically vulnerable area. I am not exempt from sharing the feeling. The alliances we have formed in the region are tenuous at best. Trust is in its infancy. In the defense of the Gauls, they must have heard stories of us, foreign invaders who will stop at nothing to expand their world. It’s a truth I know far too well. And so, despite the diplomatic meetings, their distrust is painted clear across their faces as they regard us; the wrong move may spark a war. If they were as bold as some claim, they would not hesitate to take initiative and fire the first salvo. A constant guard is imperative.

I strain my neck to double check Jeremiah's position, and I rest easier knowing that he is situated at the head of the line along with Alex. If need be, they can hastily make an escape.

We trudge in heightened tension for another hour, and I see the effects wearing on the soldiers in my own centuria. Their shoulders are starting to drop, their shields ever so slightly dragging across the mud covered ground. My eyes don't leave the path ahead when I remind them: "Battle ready, soldier. I need not trip over your carcass today." That gets them to straighten out for the time being.

The trees grow higher still and while their shade provides a welcome refuge from the sun's rays, our visibility drops. And I can't shake the feeling that we are being watched.

The hairs on my neck bristle suddenly and I sense the slight change in the air, almost imperceptible. Then, in the distance, a quiet _thunk_.

My eyes widen.

"Shields!" I yell out.

A good portion of the tested veterans raise their shields to a protective stance out of sheer instinct. Those are the lucky ones. The recruits who have yet to spill the blood of another are a second too late, and the volley of arrows find their resting place in their necks and faces. At least a hundred drop at once.

I brace behind my own shield and grit my teeth as the impact of the arrows force my arm to give slightly. After a few seconds, a brief pause in action.

"Testudo! Testudo!"

With relative ease, despite the corpses of the compatriots blocking some mobility, the legion manages to form walls on three fronts, left, top, and right. The next round of fire glances harmlessly off of the shields with minimum casualties.

Then, the war cries. Fierce Gallic warriors run down the slopes from the forest on both sides, swords and spears drawn. Ready to face their enemy head on.

"Spears ready!" I call out along with the other centurions.

"Split down the middle!" I add.

With that, the two sides of the legion turn to face the oncoming horde, spears held steady in the gaps between shields. Only a few seconds before impact.

"Brace!"

The valiant cries of the Gauls quickly turn into screams of pain as their flesh makes contact with the sharp ends, this seemingly unavoidable, immovable wall of immaculate suffering. With each body that unceremoniously attaches itself to the spears, its front grows heavier and heavier, eventually rendering the weapon useless. A mangled skewer of men and women.

I order the men to break from their spears and switch to their swords. Now that the element of surprise and the ensuing first wave has been quelled, the ambush quickly boils down to a manageable skirmish. Our forces and our formation begin to loosen with soldiers free to step out as needed to dispatch the enemy.

I decide to forgo my heavy shield and launch myself to the fray to meet the remaining attackers. The men are hesitant to follow, their senses are overwhelmed by the echoes of agony that still reverberate throughout the forest. The first Gaul I come into contact with carries a large foreboding axe, and I know immediately that its longer reach will be deadly. Reaching to my side, I dig out a dagger and throw it at the giant in one smooth motion. His head meets the ground the moment the blade lodges itself deep into his left eye.

The man behind barely manages to step to the side to avoid being flattened by the corpse. He pauses, stunned by the quick demise of this his fellow man of Herculean proportions. It proves to be a fatal mistake. I plow ahead, barrelling into his sternum, knocking him over on his back. My knee pins the hand that holds his sword, and he falls silent before he even has time to squeak.

I take a half second to wipe his blood off of my face before glancing around; the rest of the centurions have also ordered their soldiers to charge forward to clean the mess before it has a chance to spread. When I rise again, my own soldiers have now graciously awarded me with their presence, rushing past me with newfound confidence. The battle finishes not long after that.

//

A scout team is sent to search the immediate area for any reinforcements they might have brought, or if we are lucky, we could discover their encampment. Until then, the main force remains at the ambush site, tending to wounds, burying comrades, and ending misery. I do my rounds, making sure that my men and women are accounted for and noting those who did not make it through the assault.

While on the outskirts of the path, a groan catches my ear, and I walk over to investigate. It's a fallen Gaul, the broken end of a spear jutting out from his stomach. Judging by the lack of color on his face, he hasn't gotten long. He notices my presence and tries to motion me over. I am not one to take orders from a combatant, but my sense of curiosity leads me forward.

I loom over his body, casting a shadow over his painstriken face. To him, I must look hazy with a halo of light from the sun. I have become the sword of Death herself.

He gives me a look and glances down to his injury. His eyes speak volumes; he pleads for mercy. I give a terse nod. He may have been an enemy, but I would be remiss to forget that he is also a man, a creation from Rao himself. I kneel down by his side, draw the dagger I had recollected from the giant, and mumble a short prayer in a language he cannot understand.

" _May you return in Rao's light."_

Understandably, he flashes a moment of confusion. Then, he is no more. I hold the handle of the blade down for a few seconds before withdrawing it from his chest. He passes as many men before him do and will undoubtedly for generations to come: with a whimper.

I clean my blade on the grass as best I can.

Out in the distance, a set of hooves drums closer and closer. A few soldiers, Jeremiah, and I rush to the back of the legion to see if a potential threat is imminent. As the figure grows near, it becomes clear that he is a Roman messenger, perhaps from a nearby legion.

He disembarks and unrolls a sheet of parchment he produces from his bag.

"Which one of you is Centurion Danvers?" he calls out.

Jeremiah and I step forward.

"There are two," my pater responds.

The messenger takes a moment to eye us both.

"The younger." He steps in my direction. "Centurion Danvers, you are instructed by the Senate to return to Rome immediately as a private citizen. You are to serve under the direct authority of the new Governor of Cisalpine Gaul, Lex Luthor, acting as personal protection for the newly appointed Praetor, Lena Luthor."


	3. Chapter 3

**Five months after the fall of Krypton**

The sun has yet to rise, but I can still hear the voices of my new cohabitants.

"Pater, I cannot bear to listen to her whimper and ramble all throughout the night." It is Alex, unaware that I had woken minutes prior.

"I command you to exercise patience, Alex." There's an absolute finality to his tone. "In time, you'll see her as your own," Jeremiah finishes coolly.

"Why me? And why her? She looks nothing like us, does not talk like us." Her frustration mounts with each charge leveled against me.

"Have you pieced together who she might be, my child?"

Alex lets out a scoff.

"Mater told me that she was an orphan you had taken pity on the way back from battle."

Jeremiah tuts his tongue.

"Ah, and you have yet to learn the machinations of our world. Listen closely, Alex. She is not merely an orphan; In my lifetime, she will bring Rome to its knees."

* * *

**Three years later**

If it isn't for a last second parry, Alex would have taken my head clean off. Never mind the fact that it is supposed to be a training exercise; she is striking to see blood. My arms are dragging, filled stones, covered in bruises where her punches and kicks find home repeatedly. Another dangerously close call lands me on my back with the tip of Alex's sword a mere hair's width from my throat. She looks exasperated, eyes focused on Jeremiah, not I.

"Pater, it is clear that she is not ready for training."

"You will start again."

Alex huffs in response, not daring to question his authority. She withdraws her blade and takes a half step back, her weight still lying in her front foot. She hesitates for a split moment, debating if she should help me up from the ground. Unfortunately, I am left alone to gather myself, using my sword that is too large for my juvenile body as a makeshift cane.

When I finally make my way back up on my feet, it still takes me a couple of seconds to regain my balance, a feat that is further complicated by the sheer weight of the weapon in my hands.

"Begin," orders Jeremiah.

Alex does not step forward or even swing in my direction. In fact, she simply shifts her eyes from my frame to Pater's, her sword still raised in a defensive stance. We stand at a stalemate for a few seconds, neither of us willing to make the first move for completely different reasons.

"You will strike, Alex, or I will take your place. Kara needs to defend herself." Jeremiah offers an ultimatum.

Her eyes grow wide, and she mouths a silent apology that I can barely make out in my state of exhaustion. She says she is sorry afterwards, but her blows are everything but apologetic. My body cries out for help, but the soul is willing; I will no longer be the girl that runs away from violence and destruction. One day, I will become a master of death, forging my own destiny.

* * *

**Four years later**

The sun is at its highest peak, shootings its harsh rays to anyone who dares question its celestial power. My training session is well into its fourth hour, and my muscles are beginning to strain. However, I am not the weak, frail girl of the past who could not even lift a sword to protect herself. The weapon has become an extension of my arm, a second nature that has been forced upon me.

My movements are more fluid and quicker than the flight of the eagle that the Romans pride so much. The sound of the sword now slices through the air, a sharp scream that dares those foolish enough to try. It's now been years since I surpassed Alex in swordsmanship and Jeremiah is well within reach. I tell myself that it's a matter of survival.

Back near the house, I can see Alex and Jeremiah wrapped up in a heated argument. Alex, as fiery as always, using animated hand gestures to drive home her point. Jeremiah, stoic, sedentary in his beliefs.

"You can't expect her to fight for the very thing she despises."

"My child, that is not for you to decide."

"I'm not deciding anything; I'm telling you that it's inhumane."

"Why don't we let her decide for herself them, hm?"

Then, the two figures make their way over to my training grounds. As they near, I quickly sheath my sword and bow my head out of respect.

Alex looks at me with eyes that seek to convey more than just pity. A regret perhaps.

Jeremiah begins, "Kara, I would like for you to accompany me on my next patrol as a legionary. You will report to me directly and under the global supervision of Praetor Edge."

Alex juts in, "But you could get her killed!"

"Nonsense," he dismisses her concern with a simple wave of his hand. "she is far beyond ready." His eyes narrow in my direction. "Even if her god hasn't made himself known yet."

"What if they find out? She will be executed publicly, and so will the rest of us."

Ignoring Alex, Jeremiah takes a step closer to me, his gaze holding steady.

"Kara, it is true that you may burn. But you will burn Rome down with you. A small price to pay for revenge, don't you think?"

With those words, Alex's shoulders deflate immediately. She knows she has lost the fight.

* * *

**A few weeks later**

The walk over to his tent is slow and arduous, and every single one of my muscles scream in protest. I wipe the earth from my cheeks, smearing them in the process. When I do reach the tent, I notice that it is set up much farther than other tents situated around the center of the encampment. I brush it off as the privileges that come with the higher rank.

"Permission to enter, pater."

A gruff voice responds.

"Granted."

Jeremiah stands with his back towards me, his hand firmly clasped around the hilt of his blade. He does not move nor speak for a few tense moments.

"Why do you hesitate, my child?"

I shift the weight in my feet from right to left as I try to formulate a non-offensive answer.

"I did not know you wished for me to speak, pater."

"No, Kara," he turns around, his eyes leveled at me with fire behind those irises. "Why do you hesitate to kill?"

"I fail to see why I should take the lives of those who seem destined to share the same fate as my ancestors."

He ponders my response and closes the distance between us to put his hand on my shoulder.

"Follow me."

He leads me away, deep into the forest that  now houses hundreds of dead men. There is a clearing, devoid of any trees or grass for that matter. Just a smattering of fallen leaves. A soldier stands at the ready, guarding a prisoner from the opposing army. The poor bastard looks utterly beaten, shoulders slumped, face bloodied. A lamb for slaughter. The centurion makes his way calmly to the guard and allows him to return to camp.

"Unsheathe your blade child," Jeremiah orders once the guard has gone out of earshot.

I flinch, eyes darting over to his resolute features. I wait for a crack, anything that would show any sign that this is some elaborate joke. Alas, it is not to be.

"With respect, I refuse."

He stares daggers in my direction and marches over to the prisoner. Jeremiah violently pulls his head back, grabbing a fistful of his hair.

"Do you see that girl," Jeremiah points at me. "The one with golden hair? She has been touched by the Sun of the South."

No, he wouldn't dare.

The prisoner grins, showing a disgusting display of bloodied teeth, chipped and broken.

"You cannot be serious; they are nothing but a myth."

"Speak Kara."

I freeze, and suddenly, my throat begins to close and dry.

"Speak!"

I feel my breaths quickening, fingers twitching, static running through my veins. Drums thundering in the distance.

"I-"

Specks of black threaten to cloud my vision. Breaths ragged. Head heavy. Knees weak.

"Now!"

" _ Stop. Rao, please stop."  _ Hands over my ears. In and out. In and out. In. Out.

Knees. Ground.

In the distance, a voice:

"No, that can't be."

Then another:

"Kara, get up."

Feet. Look up. Jeremiah and a dagger.

A prisoner without his bounds.

A scuffle of feet and hands.

"Will you let him go, Kara?"

Stumbling. Hands. A blade. Jeremiah.

A man. Jeremiah. Hands.

Blade. Metal. Tongue. Flesh.

Red.

Jeremiah.

Red.

* * *

**Later that winter**

I wince, cursing as I instinctively draw my arm closer to my body. I am met with a stern slap on the shoulder for my crimes.

"Kara, if you flinch, it's only going to hurt more," says Alex.

"Gods, I wouldn't be flinching if you weren't squeezing my wound!"

"I am merely doing my job, whereas you decided to take on multiple enemies at once against pater's orders."

With a huff, I offer my left arm back to Alex.

"It's not my fault that he was giving up ground for no reason."

"Always a good reason, huh?"

We stay still for a while longer, Alex's steady hands guiding the needle.

"Did," Alex starts abruptly, "did you, erm,"

"Did I what?"

"Did it happen today?"

My shoulders sag and deflate at the words. The mark of the Sun burns hotter against my ribcage in shame. A blessing at birth, a curse ever since. Rao’s voice is silent with no signs of recovery: not today and not yesterday and not everyday before that either. I shake my head.

"Oh."

Alex keeps her eyes on the wound. A beat.

"I can tell pater if you would like me to."

"Please."


	4. Chapter 4

**Lena**

The moment the vote is finalized and entered into record, the Senate erupts into chaos. I, for one, sit in silence, shocked at the outcome.  _ They did it. _

I scan for my mater, peering through the groups of angry senators who look ready to riot. She stands near the back, smirking proudly at her latest masterpiece of political maneuvering. She gives a quick nod to one of the consuls and uses the commotion on the senate floor to escape unseen. I squeeze my way past the masses to rush after her.

She doesn't spare me a glance as I catch up. Instead, she elects to keep her eyes steady on the road, and I know better than to try to make idle conversation. That woman is always scheming, always five moves ahead of everyone else.

As we near the forum and the sporting arenas, the amount of people on the street triple in size. An anonymous benefactor has sponsored a last minute chariot race, and given the tense political climate of late, the public seems to relish the chance to let loose and enjoy themselves. The crowd's level of excitement rival that of those who gather for Saturnalia. To my right, I see some workers preparing the stage in the middle of a forum for an announcement. And then it hits me: Lillian. Oh you clever woman. Without a doubt, she funded the games, fully knowing that the turnout will be massive. She has maximized the audience for the reading of the new legislation that outlines Lex's governorship and to a lesser extent, my praetorship. With the crowd already in a great mood and  with Lex's political position as a populist favorite, there is no possible way that the conservative faction can introduce any type of counter legislation that aims to negate Lex's term as a governor quick enough without angering the masses who have gathered here. By the time they can even try to suggest a motion, we will be deep into Gallic territory. It'll simply be too late for them.

A young girl, who couldn't have possibly been older than ten years old, grabs a hold of Lillian's dress and tugs slightly. She responds with an immediate back-handed strike that staggers the child. Lillian's fury is firmly etched on her face, wrapped in disgust at the offense.

"If you touch me again with your filthy hands, I will make sure you never see the light of day from that vile hole you must call home."

The girl's eyes are wide, recognizing and learning too early in her life that there exists an order in our society, one that necessitates the dominance over one another. She mutters an apology and rushes to disappear from Lillian's sight. Foolishly, I look towards my mater's face, half hoping that there might be even a trace of regret or sympathy. There is none. It seems that she has wiped the interaction from her mind entirely already.

Lillian moves on, but I reach out and grab the little girl by the arm.

"Wait!" I call out.

I grimace at the force of my grip, realizing that it must have scared the little girl even further. I kneel down to her eye level, much to the disapproval of Lillian and the crowd around us, albeit for vastly different reasons.

"Here," I say, offering the girl a bronze coin. "Go enjoy the festivities."

She looks unsure for a moment, deciding if this is a trick and if the risk of potential punishment would be worth it. She snatches the coin from my fingers and scurries out from my view, melting into the masses.

When I stand once again, Lillian waits with a disapproving gaze.

"Misplaced charity will not culture that creature."

"Perhaps, but at least she won't be hungry."

We don't talk much after that.

* * *

**Kara, two weeks later**

Rome. A city built near a river of blood, its marble structures forged and fused with human bone. A city of near three million inhabitants but one that serves only four hundred. I have been here only twice before. Both on the account of Jeremiah. The first time was to replace a state issued dagger of his and the second to outfit me with the proper armor and equipment. It was objectively a quiet affair, trips made strictly for duty not pleasure.

I stayed silent for the most part, but my heart burned knowing I was in the heart of the flames that scorched everything that I have ever known. 

And now, I am alone. Left to my own devices for the first time. I feel utterly naked and vulnerable without any of my swords, but I take some little solace in the fact that everyone within the city walls are legally bound to the same predicament. In theory, of course.

My eyes are weary from the travel, the breakneck pace wearing on my features. However, I am careful to stay vigilant. I can't help the eyes that dart back and forth the faces that do not know my own. Laws be damned, a blade is not the only way to extinguish a human life.

Thankfully, not before long, I reach the opulent estate before me, a sight that stands out even in the wealthiest areas of the central city. I stand idly near the front gates, unsure of how to approach.

"How can I help you, Domina?" asks a voice. It's a… servant of some kind. I try not to think about such implications.

"I am here for the Praetor."

"You can follow me," she responds with a bow. I can only nod in return.

Inside the estate, more and more workers are busy cleaning and cooking, somehow managing to mirror the ordered chaos that reigns outside on the streets. I'm led to a garden that is notably absent of all the commotion from the rest of the rooms and hallways. Two women sit side by side in chairs, enjoying their midday wine. Although they are angled towards one another, they sip in silence.

"A guest for you, Domina," and with that, the girl slinks away.

The older woman keeps her eyes on the flora while the younger woman turns to meet my eyes. Hers are a deep, endless forest, one that puts this whole garden to shame. I return her gaze head on and wait to be summoned or acknowledged by who I presume to be the elder senator. I know better than to risk the ire of a lioness who seems too aware of her own power. I have never been one for the politics or the scheming that is so often associated with those in the Senate. They say that senators shift the earth and the skies with a single handshake. In my experience, it is the blades that move men and silence them.

"So, you are the one that is assigned to my daughter, yes?" Her voice is light, not because of her fragility, no. It's because of the ease with which she assumes complete control.

"Yes, Senator."

She doesn't respond right away. Instead, she takes a long sip, dragging out the silence between us.

"Well," she starts, "I expect that you will serve with your life. Lena is very… valuable." Then, she finally turns to face me, and I have to steel myself to not take an instinctive step back.

"For your sake, I hope you are as good as they say they are. I requested the best northern Italia has to offer. It would be quite unfortunate if you were to fail in your duty in any capacity, yes?" She is no less dangerous than a poisonous snake ready to strike at any moment.

"Of course not, Senator. You have my word."

"Mm. Words are not what they used to be worth these days. A pity." She turns to her daughter. The praetor. "Best not keep your brother waiting, Lena."

* * *

**Lena**

The centurion and I leave without much fanfare or delay. I had packed the night before, filling my small bag with my most recent books of notes and findings. When I emerged from my room with my belongings in tow, the centurion gives me the briefest of looks. Some might say it was nothing; I know differently. I have seen the look of doubt across the face of many.

"Something wrong?"

She looks away, focusing on the street past the gates. "No, Praetor."

"Shall we, then?"

The walk to the pomerium was faster than I had anticipated, and not much later, we found ourselves at the nearest garrison just outside the city walls. As the centurion retrieves her weapons from the clerk, she pauses and turns to me.

"Do you how to ride?"

"I do, yes."

She points towards some horses grazing about near the barracks and requests two horses. When the horses are guided out to us, I begin to regret my response. I spoke out of pure reflex, but I was not a liar. I was, in fact, taught how to ride. The problem is how long it has been since I have last ridden. Four years. No, five?

Well, too late to back out now, I suppose.

The centurion mounts her steed with practiced ease, swinging a leg over to complete the motion in one fluid movement. I, on the other hand, am trying the tried and true method of whispering pleas into my horses ear in hopes he doesn't fling me off his back.

"By the gods, please don't kill me. I promise I'm not that heavy."

The centurion's voice cuts off my private conversation.

"Do you require help, Praetor?" Was that a hint of a smile?

"A little, yes. Just the getting on the horse part."

She dismounts her horse just as easily as she climbed on and strides over to my side. Without a warning, she places her hands on my sides, and I let out an involuntary yelp.

"What are you-"

She swiftly lifts my body over the horse and places me gently on top of his back. My cheeks turn an incriminating shade of crimson.

"You, you can't just throw me like a sack of grain!" I stammer.

"I thought you requested assistance, Praetor."

"Well, not like that!"

"I apologize."

She gets back on her horse and sets out, doubling checking if I was well situated first. The first couple of stades are admittedly rough, and while I would like to think of myself as someone with a certain amount of athletic prowess, I do find myself off balance a little too often for my liking. Thank Apollo that I get the hang of riding soon enough.

We are not the most talkative duo on the road. She seems content just to keep her eyes focused on the countryside, surveying the horizon for any potential threats. Once in a while, she turns around and takes into account of my general well-being, and for a reason I can't place, I cannot seem to meet her piercing blue eyes.

It's only the first day outside the city, but the enormity of the task before me rests heavy on my shoulders. I know only snippets of what Lex plans to do in his term as governor. From what I understand, governorships involve more careful diplomacy than anything else, and Lex has always been a smooth talker; he is truly the best man for the job. His competence and political talents have never been in doubt. It's his  _ unusual _ practices that have put him and our family in the center of controversy. His attempts at land reform have made him a prime target for the conservative faction in the Senate and his, shall we say, shady political maneuvers have only grown more and more bold and brazen. He and Lillian have moved mountains to acquire his governorship. And they are not ones to just sit around and be content with new trade treaties. There is no doubt in my mind that a triumph is the ultimate goal. My presence and my newly appointed position only reinforces this idea. In all honesty, I am not fit to be a traditional praetor or even a legate for that matter. I have never been a part of a battle nor have I taken a life before. My only saving grace is my tactical and technological aptitude that Lex lacks. While he studied the delicate dance of politics, I dived deep into history, learning all that I could about the past so that our future could be different from our present. Much to the delight of Lillian, a byproduct of my studies is my understanding of troop movements and geographical advantages and other topics that she saw more as leverage against others rather than talent.

"Did you pack a sword with you, Praetor?" A voice brings me out from my thoughts. Oh, it's her.

"I would prefer it if you would just call me Lena, centurion."

She is taken aback by my request. A beat. "Then, I would also ask that you call me by my name as well."

"And what name would that be?"

"Kara."

_Kara._ _Kara._

Something about it lingers on the tip of my tongue, and I let it reside there for longer than it must.

"Have you got a sword with you Lena?" Kara slows down her horse to ride in lockstep with my own.

"I'm afraid not. I wasn't expecting to face danger on the way."

She pulls out a dagger from own sack and offers it to me. I take it wearily.

"I hope to get you back in one piece. The dagger will help."

"Isn't that what I have you for? My very own protector?" Oh gods, where did that come from?

She lets out a small cough.

"I will not let you in harm's way-"

"I sense a ‘however’ imminent."

"-However, in case I fail, I will rest easy knowing the blade resides with you." It's a rare moment of tender sincerity that I have seen from Kara.

"Something tells me that you won't."

"How could you possibly know that?"

“I am capable of producing educated guesses."

* * *

**Kara**

Much to my surprise, we make good progress on our first day. Despite her early struggles, Lena has proven herself to be a capable rider even if she stumbles here and there. With this pace, we can make it to Cisalpine Gaul in about a week or so. Hopefully, the legion will be close to where I left it.

We find a clearing a stade away from the main road, just deserted enough where the threat of bandits is low. I get to work right away setting up camp and building a tent as per military protocol. In a few minutes, we have a suitable enough shelter for two.

"Impressive," Lena remarks, venturing into the tent.

I crack a smile. "I know more than just my blade, Lena."

I can barely hear Lena mutter something under her breath.

"Did you say something?"

“Merely thinking by myself. Please ignore me.”

“As you wish.”

Lena strolls around, pensive. Her finger beats a steady rhythm on her bottom lip.

“Hm.”

"Is it not to your liking, Lena?" I stop my organizing and give her my full attention. 

“It’s more than suitable, Kara. Thank you. Although, I am wondering where I will be sleeping?”

"Were you expecting a bed?" I raise an eyebrow at her.

"Would it be a crime if I said yes?"

I reach out in my bag, pulling out a large bedroll.

"All I have is a bedroll, I'm afraid."

"Oh."

I pick up on her trepidation and rush in.

"If that makes you uncomfortable, I am more than happy to arrange other accommodations."

Her features scrunch up.

"Ah no. That won't be necessary." A pause. "I'm going to bring the rest of my belongings."

When Lena is out of earshot, I whisper a prayer to Rao. I know that he works in mysterious ways. Yet, even if the Sun shall rise again tomorrow, a deep part of me begins to forget his voice. His warmth. His power. Maybe even if he ever spoke at all. I am losing my way across the sea, back where my blood and soul longs to be--and I cannot help but think that I am running out of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of things for clarification: 
> 
> A stade is an anglicized version of a Roman unit of length that is roughly equal to 200 yards. 
> 
> The pomerium are the city walls of Rome. To walk through the gates of the pomerium is an incredibly symbolic gesture for military personnel. Anyone who enters through the pomerium must be a private citizen, without any legions or even weapons. Any general must relinquish their command of their legions before entering the city. 
> 
> Domina is a term used by people who are lower in status or rank to address those (women) who are "higher" then them.
> 
> Saturnalia is a Roman holiday that is akin to Christmas but with a lot more drinking and partying. 
> 
> And as always, thank you for reading and let me know what you thought of the chapter!


	5. Chapter 5

**Kara**

There is a comfort in knowing where one’s reach begins and ends. To have such intimate and piercing knowledge of yourself and your limits. In ways, the study of taking a life, painting the soil with a weapon, is a reflection of how far you are willing to reach. Will you trade a life for your own? For a belief? For a general? For a god?

Riding beside this girl born of Roman patrician privilege, I am acutely reminded of how foreign her world must be to someone like myself―her education tightly bound in collections of papyri containing the musings of some Athenian. In contrast, the remnants of my lessons live vicariously through my arms, my legs, my shield, and my blade. I wonder if she knows the realities of the world that awaits the two of us in only a few hours.

She has adjusted admirably to traveling on the road, even building the tent on her own on some nights. The effects of our journey are slight but present. Drooped shoulders while riding, a light grasp on the reins of her horse. She is a girl made for marble, not forests. I notice how her slender fingers wrap, not clasp. How her feet seem to glide, not march. It’s not too outlandish for me to assume that she is wholly unprepared for what is to come. As much as I would like to avoid it, death comes in overwhelming waves outside the pomerium. And it does not leave quietly nor cleanly. The aftermath of a battle, no matter how big or small, is an experience that desecrates the senses. In the battlefield, men are too rudely reminded that they leave the world much in the same way they entered it. Crying. Screaming. Bleeding.

I have seen things―the things that a man is capable of doing to another man. I look over to Lena, straightened back, smooth features unsullied by the harshness of the wild, piercing green eyes, and I hesitate, fully knowing what those eyes will witness when the time inevitably comes.

The path ahead of us is rougher around the edges, signaling our entrance into distinctly un-Italian lands. The trees thicken and stretch upwards, daring to touch the skies. We are leaving behind rolling hills of golden hues for the greater unknown.

I look over to Lena, who seems content to continue as if nothing has changed. I cannot distinguish if that is a result from her fatigue or lack of interest. I don’t possess that luxury. In an instant, I am all too aware of my surroundings; taking into account each rustling of leaves, the way that the air subtly changes in pressure, the way my ear prickles and stiffens. And I move before I can hear the piercing whistling slicing through the air.

I grab a fistful of Lena’s cloak and yank her down violently as I lower myself as well. She lets go of the reins in surprise and has to flail her arms to regain her balance. Her eyes grow impossibly wide in shock and in lack of understanding just what is exactly going on. Half a breath later, the arrow screeches past above her head, barely missing the strands of her hair. I feel the vibrations of the projectile as it passes by my neck. A moment too late and the arrow could have taken us both.

It came from our right which leaves our only route of escape to be―

“Hang on!” I yell, and with a kick, I stir her horse into a full sprint. I follow in kind. She’s barely hanging on for dear life, but more importantly, she’s staying low and grabbing around the horse’s neck.

“Keep your head down!” I shout over the winds. More arrows fly by, missing their mark but intending to stay true. We won’t have much time until one of them strikes its intended target or worse, gets lucky. I keep my eyes on her, making sure that she doesn’t fall off. Lena clutches to what she can, knuckles white and eyes shut. She’s terrified. And stiff. But alive for now.

A second passes, then another, and another. As we put more distance between us and our attackers the frequency of arrows start to dwindle. We ride and we ride until I feel my horse begin to tire from underneath. I slow us down to a trot and take the moment to peer over my shoulder to where we came. My hand rests on the hilt of my sword, ready at a moment’s notice. Eyes scanning from tree to tree, branch to branch. Nothing moves except the occasional bird, and I turn around to face Lena again.

“Are you safe, Lena?’ I ask, giving her a once over for injuries.

Her hands are shaking, and she breathes heavily, chest heaving, gasping for air. For a moment, I am convinced I can hear her heart beat with reckless abandon.

“Ye―yes.” She manages to squeeze out.

“Can you keep going?” I put a hand on her shoulder as an attempt for some modicum of comfort.

She just nods and that’s good enough for now. I elect to ride without stopping much the rest of the way, giving our attackers no room to pursue. As the hours go by, Lena seems to relax ever so slightly, but the tension in her body and features is written as clear as day. We make it to camp just before nightfall with Lena unscathed in all matters but her psyche. It is one that I know from experience that no bandage can solve. Only time.

* * *

We make it to camp with a couple hours to spare, but the sun has long gone to slumber. A soldier dutifully takes our horses to the makeshift stables as we disembark. My feet touch the earth first as I make sure I am there to help Lena off her steed. As expected, she is weak in the knees, stumbling into my arms before I can steady her.

“Come, praetor,” I say, addressing Lena by her formal title with others around. “Your brother must be expecting you.”

She weakly nods, letting me take the lead.

I scour the encampment and lock eyes with a soldier standing guard next to the main gates.

“You, soldier!” I shout, and he snaps to attention. I wave him over with my free hand, supporting Lena with my left. “Point us towards the governor’s quarters.”

He responds in earnest but his gaze drifts over to Lena’s hunched figure.

“Do your eyes wander like so in battle, soldier?” I ask.

“No, ma’am. I apologize,” he answers, eyes back to mine.

“Then keep them where they belong.”

We slowly but surely make our way to the governor’s tent, and in hindsight, it was the obvious choice as it is the biggest structure around. When we near the entrance, a man’s voice can be heard, and Lena gathers herself nearly instantly. Perhaps out of reflex, perhaps out of respect. Maybe even fear. Her back straightens, posture upright. Chin lifted in the way that would be expected of a patrician nobility.

“—then we shall send an envoy to the neighboring tribes to test their hostilities.”

There is a brief gap in the conversation, and Lena takes that moment to make her presence known.

“Permission to enter the quarters, governor,” she said after clearing her throat.

“Granted.”

She leads this time, pushing aside the heavy flaps that protects the general from his soldiers. I follow a step or two behind. Inside, there is a large map of the Italian lands, the Gallic lands, and the mountains that divide them that overlays a table that would easily fill up a soldier’s tent. At the head of the table stands a man not much taller than I but perhaps as tall as Lena. He sports a red tunic, intricately bordered by golden designs around the hems and sleeves. His facial features run sharp and his are no less serious, possibly more venomous, than his mother.

“Ah, Lena. Glad you could finally catch up. I was just finishing a meeting.” He turns and gestures to his companion standing near him with his hand on the table clutching a roll of papyrus. “Have you two met before?”

“I’m afraid that we have not,” the companion answers. “Though I thoroughly wish we had.” The man wears a sly smile on his face, undoubtedly praising himself for the remark. He offers a hand to Lena.

“James Olsen. A pleasure to meet you Lena.”

“And you know of me.” She takes his hand and allows him a single shake. His hand is released without much fanfare or reaction. She pauses for a moment before posing in inquiry. “Have you got no title?”

“I’m afraid not. For now at least.”

“Good. Then you will address me by mine.” At that, James noticeably flinches and looks to the governor who seems more amused than offended. Lena turns her attention to her brother next. “Do you require my presence tonight, governor?”

“Ah, you must be exhausted. You may take your leave then. There is a tent for you and your protector by the armory.”

“Thank you.”

She leaves without another word or look at the two men, and I hurry to catch up to her surprisingly fast strides. In mere seconds, we reach the aforementioned tents near the armory which are not as large as the governor’s quarters but sizable nonetheless, still dwarfing the personal space a standard legionary would be allotted in a shared tent. Lena heads into one at random, and I stop in my tracks outside the entrance, not wanting to infringe upon her private space without her say so. A few beats pass by before Lena pokes her head back out.

“What are you doing?”

“I did not wish to enter your private quarters without your explicit permission.”

“Then from now on, I would like for you to accompany me in all places unless I say otherwise.” She motions for me to follow, and I am greeted with a level of luxury that I have not previously seen in a military camp. There are golden pitchers and marble basins, beds that look double my salary that are divided by a curtain that distinctly looks imported from lands far away. There are intricately designed crates that I can only assume contain accessories and riches beyond my greatest imaginations. And in the center of it all is Lena, slowly pacing around with her arms folded across her chest.

“Are you unwell, Lena?”

“I—I did not wish to spend time feigning the manners I could not muster at the moment.”

“Would you like for me to fetch you water?”

She looks up directly into my eyes.

“Please.”

I head towards where the ornate pitchers are located and pour water into equally grand cups. She accepts the water graciously, delicately holding the vessel with both hands.

“If I may be so bold as to ask—“

Lena waves me off.

“You can speak without consequence, Kara.”

“Why were you requested as a praetor? I rarely see a praetor without prior battle experience.”

When she finishes her drink, she gently places the cup back near the pitcher and answers my question.

“I am not entirely sure on that matter myself,” she says, making her way over to the bed and promptly sitting down. “I’m sure it’s clear to you from today that I have no business being anywhere near any weapons. The reason behind it all seems to elude own mind but not those of my brother or mother. I suppose we will all know in due time, but I can only hope that whatever it is, it makes itself known to me before the men under my command get hurt.”

“I see,” I respond with no clear direction.

“You must think of me as utterly useless.” Lena makes a show of sighing deeply and dropping her hands on her lap to illustrate her point.

“I...cannot say that I have ever encountered a praetor like yourself, Lena, but I believe that events tend to happen for a reason.”

“That is quite kind of you Kara. I suppose that you have had your fair share of battles, then?”

With that question, I can’t help but instinctively place my hands on my sides, my right thumb absentmindedly rubbing circles around the mark of the Sun. Thankfully, Lena doesn’t seem to make note of it.

“I have, yes. More than I would prefer, perhaps, but it is my responsibility.”

“And now it seems that I am yours.”

“Pardon?”

“Your responsibility,” she clarifies. “I trust that I am in capable hands.”

“I will not let harm come your way, Lena.”

“As you know, I am rubbish with a blade,” she asserts sheepishly, eyes darting to the dagger I had given her days prior now on her bed.

“If you,” I start, running a free hand through my hair. “If you so wish, I could teach you some basic maneuvers for some peace of mind.”

“For mine or yours?”

“For both, I suppose.”

“Regardless, I would like that very much. Thank you, Kara.”

A response is ready on my lips when a warning horn blasts throughout the encampment. My head snaps to the sound and my hand is already gripping the hilt of my gladius. A brief moment passes then a soldier speaks from just outside the tent. Labored, heavy.

“Permission to speak.”

“Granted.” I say.

“There is—There is a gallic messenger, insisting to talk to the governor. He’s says that it’s a matter of life and death.”

“Is it not always,” I mutter under my breath. Then, louder to the soldier. “You are relieved.”

I turn towards the bed, but Lena is right behind me, a mere inches away.

“I am afraid you are needed, Lena.”

She lets out a weighty sigh.

“If a blade does not strike me down then the lack of sleep will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Terms:  
> -Gladius: the primary sword of a Roman soldier
> 
> -Patrician: the nobility/ruling class of Ancient Rome. Effectively the one percent.
> 
> -Praetor: a political and military position. A high ranking officer who is responsible for leading legions. Technically lower rank than a governor who has held position of consul before, the highest position in Rome.


End file.
